


In Hot Pursuit of the Perfect Pastry

by infiniteeight



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cop!Phil, Diner!Clint, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2428184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/pseuds/infiniteeight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a guy shows up and delivers amazing smelling food to the new detective in the precinct, Phil's fellow detectives nominate him to track it to it's source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Hot Pursuit of the Perfect Pastry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orderlychaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/gifts).



> In somewhat belated honor of Chaos's birthday. \o/
> 
> Many thanks to Ralkana for the title. :D

Phil has his head down, slogging his way through the paperwork for his most recent case--closed, and happily featuring a mountain of evidence--when someone passes by his desk and he catches a whiff of the most _incredible_ smell. He sits up and takes another breath. It's fainter, but he can still smell it. Dark chocolate, sugar, and a hint of something... citrusy? Looking around, it takes him a moment to spot the source: Detective Romanov is opening a plain cardboard box and withdrawing a cookie.

Romanov is a new addition to the department. She'd transferred in two days before. Gossip says that her closure rate at her previous precinct was unbelievably high, so high that her captain had recommended a transfer to a busier precinct because he felt she wasn't being used to her full potential. That kind of praise could have meant jealous resentment in her new workplace, except that Phil and his fellow detectives have been up to their eyeballs in work. No one was unhappy to dump whichever case was serving as an albatross around their neck on Romanov, and she didn't say a word about being handed the least prestigious and/or rapidly cooling cases they had.

Still, it's probably a good thing that she'd had a couple of days to settle in and show she wasn't going to make trouble before a visitor dropped in for her. Especially a visitor bearing gifts. She gets some looks, but they're just curious. Or hungry.

The man perched with one hip up on the edge of Romanov's desk is muscular and of average height. Just the right amount of muscular, Phil notices appreciatively. Especially the arms. Phil has to force his eyes up off the pleasant curve of the man's biceps. The guy's got dark, sandy-blond hair that had been spiked up. His features are too rough to be called pretty, but there's a grounded, artless element to them that Phil finds very appealing. Whoever he is, he smiles at Romanov and his eyes take on a mischievous light.

 _He's probably her boyfriend,_ Phil tells himself firmly. _He brought her cookies at work._ He catches another hint of that delicious scent. _Probably really expensive cookies._ There's no label on the box, but there's a lot of truth in the saying 'You get what you pay for,' and if those cookies taste half as good as they smell, the plain box might be the bakery equivalent of a menu without prices.

The guy stays and chats for about five minutes before Romanov shoos him away. Phil half listens, but doesn't catch the source of the cookies. Or his name. It's all pleasantries and a short discussion of schedules; the guy apparently works long hours.

Woo is at her desk almost the moment she's alone. "Hey Romanov," he says. "Those smell great. You going to share with the class?"

Phil can't help the way he perks up. So does just about everyone else in the bullpen, so he doesn't feel bad about it. 

"Sorry, Woo," Romanov says serenely. "Clint's food is dangerous. I can't risk it."

 _Clint._ Phil makes a mental note despite himself.

"Dangerous?" Woo's eyebrows go up. "How is his cooking _dangerous_?"

Romanov breaks into a wicked smile. "If all of you knew how good it was, there'd be fights. Scheming. Betrayal. Better that you don't know what you're missing, lest it tear you apart."

Woo--and several others, Phil included--break into chuckles at that. "If you say so," Woo says. "But eat fast, because I won't be held responsible if that smell teases me for much longer."

Smirking, Romanov lifts a cookie out of the box and bites into it with deliberation. They all chuckle again and go back to work, though Phil notices a few people glancing up now and then. Those cookies really do smell incredible. 

* 

Romanov doesn't have a partner yet, but she doesn't really need one for most of the cases she's been handed. They're past the stage when something might jump out of the shadows at you. Still, sometimes procedure said you weren't to work alone. For the past ten days or so, anyone who was available would step in to fill the gap. Today it had been Phil's turn, and they spent three hours in one of the worst parts of town questioning shopkeepers and residents who had already given what meager statements they were willing to part with. Unsurprisingly, the detectives left without any additional information.

"Why bother with the questioning?" Phil asks as they head back. He's driving; Romanov hadn't commented when he'd automatically headed for the driver's side. "Sitwell and Woo had already tried for statements immediately after the scene was discovered, when they had a good chance of remembering something, before they could think too much about consequences."

"I don't like to take someone else's word for... most things," Romanov says. It could have been a disparaging comment, but she says it more like it's was a personal quirk. "And people react differently to women than to men; even if they didn't talk, I might have picked up on something new."

Phil hums thoughtfully. She has a point. "Did you?"

"No."

As they approach the station, Phil spots one of his favorite fast food places and his stomach rumbles. Romanov's rumbles sympathetically. "You want to stop and get food?" he asks, glancing over at her.

But she shakes her head. "Clint said he'd drop by with something."

Phil isn't too surprised; since that first visit Clint has been around three more times with food for Romanov: homemade donuts, a bunch of little tarts that seemed to have different fillings, and once a full breakfast (omelet, orange juice, hash browns, and fresh fruit salad) on a late night that had turned into an early morning. Up until the breakfast, a theory had been flourishing on the grapevine that Clint worked in a bakery. The breakfast had pretty much killed that idea and speculation was running wild now, but Phil figured the explanation was pretty simple.

"You mind if I stop?" Phil asks. "I didn't bring food." Romanov waves him onwards, so he turns off and circles the block to pull into the drive through. "Must be nice to have a partner who cooks," he says wistfully as they idled in line. 

Romanov shoots him a confused look. Then her expression clears. "Clint's not my partner," she says. "Just a friend. He's as gay as the day is long."

Something inside of Phil perks up immediately. He glances sidelong at Romanov and has to fight down a blush when he spots her speculative look. "But he still cooks for you?" 

"He cooks for everyone," she says dryly. "He owns a diner."

"If he owns a diner," Phil says, then breaks off as they pull up to the first window. He places his order, then turns back to the conversation. "If he owns a diner, then why not share what he brings you? If people want more, they can go get it, and your friend gets more business in the bargain."

"He doesn't cook for me off the menu," she says. "They wouldn't find what they were looking for. And his business is doing fine."

"Fair enough." Phil knows a hint to drop a topic when he hears it.

He also knows Romanov has ears like a bat, so he holds onto his new intel instead of immediately sharing with the rest of the squad. Clint appears as expected. Knowing that he's not Romanov's boyfriend, and that he's gay as well, Phil gives himself permission to enjoy the eye candy. And Clint makes excellent eye candy. His taste in clothes runs to tight and short sleeved, and in addition to the mouth-watering biceps, he has a spectacular ass. 

Sadly, today he pulls a spare chair up to Romanov's desk and sits down, obscuring the view. "I'm experimenting," he says as he sets down the Styrofoam box he was carrying and opens it. "The first four are new flavors. The second four are your favorites, just in case I really screwed up one of the new ones."

Phil expects Romanov to dig right in, but she moves slowly and cautiously as she lifts what turns out to be a dumpling out of the box. Apparently Clint's experiments aren't always successes. But the first one, at least, works out, because after Romanov carefully bites into it, she lets out a satisfied hum and quickly polishes off the rest. "You finally got the shrimp to work," she says. 

Clint beams. "The spices aren't overwhelming anymore?"

What follows is a discussion of dumpling flavors and cooking details that quickly loses Phil. It's not that he can't cook, he feeds himself just fine and it isn't _all_ take out, but the details of flavor interactions are beyond him. Despite that, he can't help but listen with more than half an ear. Clint clearly loves what he does and values Romanov's opinion. 

The dumpling discussion eventually trails off, and they lower their voices. Phil politely turns his attention away from a conversation that, while not quite private in the center of the bullpen, obviously isn't meant for everyone.

Still, he glances up automatically when he catches Clint standing to leave out of the corner of his eye. Clint catches Phil's eye and winks broadly. Heat floods Phil's cheeks at the realization that his appreciation had been noticed, but he doesn't drop his gaze, just shrugs. Clint grins, but doesn't speak, just leaves. When he's gone, Phil looks over at Romanov, who smirks at him.

Eventually she leaves her desk, but she doesn't take her jacket, so who knows how long he has. Phil heads over to the coffee station, tapping Jasper and Woo on their shoulders along the way. May catches sight of the three of them and quickly departs her desk. "What's up?" she asks as she joins them, dumping out her half a cup of coffee and refilling it; the drinks are a decent excuse for what they're doing if Romanov comes back.

"Clint owns a diner," Phil says.

Woo's eyebrows go up. "A diner? Those tarts seemed way too fancy for that."

"The breakfast fits, though," Jasper argues. 

"Apparently he doesn't cook off the menu for Romanov," Phil explains. "But he's not her boyfriend, either. Heard all of it from Romanov directly."

"You know what this means," May says, eyes narrowing. "If he owns a diner, we can definitely get some of that food for ourselves."

"You did hear the part about not cooking off the menu, right?"

Jasper waves that off. "May's right, it doesn't matter. It might not be the _same_ food, but it'll be just as good. We just have to find the place." He looks expectantly at Phil.

"She wouldn't tell me where it was," Phil says apologetically.

Woo puts a hand on Phil's shoulder. "You're a detective. Surely you can find it."

"You're all detectives, too!" Phil protests. "Find it yourselves."

"Sure we are," Jasper says slyly, "but we don't get the side benefits of following Clint that you would."

Phil scowls. "I'm not a stalker."

May rolls her eyes. "Of course you aren't. But you _do_ appreciate the view. If one of us has to track the guy to his home base, might as well be someone who enjoys the process. And I saw him wink at you," May goes on. "Seems like he might not even mind that much." Jasper and Woo nod firmly and the three of them look expectantly at Phil.

"Apparently I have to do all the work around here," Phil grumbles, but he's giving in and they know it, grinning and slapping him on the back before heading back to their desks.

*

Tracking Clint, it turns out, is not nearly as easy as Phil had originally thought it would be. For one thing, the diner isn't within walking distance. It had seemed like a reasonable assumption, given that the food always arrives nice and hot in a basic box. But the first time Phil trails Clint out of the station, it's to find him climbing onto a motorcycle equipped with saddlebags and a luggage rack. Given how fast he peels away, he could be coming from some distance without the food cooling too much. Phil runs for a couple of steps before realizing how ridiculous he's being and turning back to the station with a sigh.

The next time Clint brings a delicious-smelling box to Romanov, he stops at Phil's desk first. For a moment, Phil has the wild fantasy that Clint is going to give _him_ some of the food. But he keeps hold of the box. "I take it you weren't expecting a motorcycle," Clint says, eyes twinkling.

His voice suits him perfectly, warm and with just a bit of a smoky edge to it. Phil feels a flush of heat and has to remind himself not to squirm. "I'm not sure what you mean," he says, taking a shot at innocence.

Clint isn't buying it for a minute. "When you followed me out of the station the other day."

"I swear I'm not a stalker," Phil says.

Clint laughs. "I didn't think you were," he assures Phil. "I can practically see all of you salivating when I bring snacks to Nat. Not hard to guess what you were looking for."

Phil perks up. "Does that mean you're willing to give up the source? Your diner's location, I mean."

"Now where would the fun be in that?" Clint grins. "If you can keep up with me next time, then you get a reward." 

"Tease," Phil accuses, but he smiles back.

"I don't tease." Clint waggles his eyebrows. "I teach the benefits of delayed gratification." And he takes himself off to Romanov's desk with another wink.

This time, Phil is prepared, his car parked out front of the station. He had to wake up at an ungodly hour--even for him, a natural early riser--to get the spot, but he promises himself it'll be worth it. Fortunately, despite expecting him, Clint hasn't gone out of his way to make it difficult; he's parked in the same place. Unfortunately, motorcycles are considerably easier to maneuver through traffic than cars are, and Clint loses Phil on that day, and several days afterward, without ever seeming to be trying to do it.

Still, he is taking the same route, so Phil can start taking advantage of alleys and clearer parallel streets to catch up, and he's slowly working his way along the path. Jasper and Melinda and Woo bitch at the time it's taking, but they shut up when Phil suggests they try their own hands at it.

As he prepares for attempt number nine, Phil decides to see if he can cut to the chase, so to speak. He pulls up Google maps, navigates to the last place he lost Clint, and zooms to what seems to be a reasonable radius before searching for diners. Clint's place might not be listed, but Phil isn't going to use police resources for this. But even just with Google, he's able to rule out most of the search results based on names and photos of the owners, as well as specialties (kosher, halal, vegan, and so on) that he knows Clint doesn't serve exclusively. That leaves Phil with about a dozen possibilities. There's no reason he can't check them all--in the middle of the day, Clint is almost certain to be returning to his diner, which means that he should still be working, and therefore findable, even if it takes hours to check them all.

In the end, it only takes an hour and a half; Clint's place is the second diner Phil checks. It's small, just a counter and a single row of booths, with the cooking area open behind the counter. Clint is busy with the grill, his back to the door, when Phil arrives. He's chatting with his customers while he cooks, though, half turning his head to speak over his shoulder. Phil quietly slides onto a stool. He thinks Clint hasn't spotted him for a moment, but then the man says, "So you finally found me," and tosses Phil a quick grin.

"It was only a matter of time," Phil says serenely. "I am a trained detective, you know."

Clint laughs as he dishes the burger up onto a plate and starts piling on the garnishes. "I noticed," he says. "So is my place going to be taken over by cops, now?"

He doesn't sound upset, not really, so Phil is only a little apologetic as he answers. "Not completely taken over--you're not close enough for that--but certainly regularly patronized. Sorry."

"Nah, it's good," Clint says. He pauses a moment to serve the burger and its side--tabouleh instead of fries or salad, oddly--to a patron. Then he turns to Phil, leaning his hip against the counter. "Natasha's old precinct was a lot further away. I almost never delivered to her there, and them taking the time to come down this way was out of the question. But your precinct is only a five minute drive, so when I found out where she was transferring I knew if I came around some cop would eventually follow me home." He flashed Phil a grin. "Didn't figure it'd be so literal."

Phil smiles back. "That's your fault, you know. And I believe I'm owed a reward, unless you really _were_ teasing."

"Never!" Clint declares, then pauses and tilts his head. "You can pick your choice of reward, even."

"Oh?"

"Through door number one are the chocolate orange cookies I brought Natasha that first time," Clint says. "You can even share, if you can bear to part with any after having the first one."

"And through door number two?" Phil asks.

Clint ducks his head briefly before meeting Phil's eyes. "Coffee of a date-like nature. With me. Somewhere other than here." 

"You hardly know me," Phil said, his heartbeat picking up speed.

"That's what the coffee date is for." Clint shrugs. "You're cute, and Natasha says you're a good guy, and you played the chase game even though you could have gotten the address any time, so I know you're willing to have a bit of fun. Seems like a good start to me."

It had been a long time since anyone had looked at Phil and thought, _He's willing to have a bit of fun._ "I guess I'll take door number two, then," he says, smiling.

Clint beams. "Awesome." He picks a plate with a warming cover off the workspace behind him, then turns back to Phil and places it on the counter. "Here."

"What's this?" Phil asks, even as he lifts the cover. Half a dozen dark, slightly citrus-smelling cookies sit on the plate.

"Positive reinforcement for accepting the date," Clint answers.

The cookies are still warm and soft. "You knew I was coming?" 

"Nat tattled on you when you left with your search results," Clint says as Phil lifts a cookie off the plate. He took a bite and closed his eyes, savoring the rich taste of it. After a long, silent moment, he opens his eyes to find Clint watching him, his mouth open like he'd frozen mid-word, his gaze a little fixed on Phil. "You're really enjoying that cookie, huh?" 

Phil blushes and swallows so that he can speak. "It's an excellent cookie. I have a bit of a weakness for cookies in general. Sugar cookies, gingerbread, chocolate chip, shortbread, oatmeal cookies...you name it, I've tried it. This one is..." he admires the half eaten cookie, "pretty special."

Clint's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. "Okay, here's the million dollar question, though: cookies or cupcakes?"

"Cookies," Phil says firmly. "Too much icing on cupcakes. You might as well eat sugar by the spoonful for all the flavor and texture you get."

"Oh, now, clearly you have been eating the wrong cupcakes," Clint begins, even as a customer calls him back to service. "Don't go anywhere, I'm not done with this!"

Phil happily sets about finishing the cookies.

~epilogue~

Phil glances up, smiling to himself when he spots Clint headed over to Romanov's desk, box in hand. Probably a sandwich and sweet potato fries; she'd been waxing poetic about the way Clint does them for days, but hadn't been able to get away long enough to get some. Phil could understand the craving--he's discovered over the past month that Clint's magic touch with cookies was only the beginning of his culinary talents.

Giving Clint a little wave hello, Phil turns back to his work. A moment later, he looks up to find Clint standing over him with his box. "I didn't mean to interrupt," Phil says, a bit sheepish. Clint visits the station to see Natasha, not Phil. But when he glances back at Romanov, she has her sandwich and fries on a paper plate on her desk. Phil blinks and looks back at Clint.

"You didn't," Clint says. "I, uh, brought this for you." He sets the box down on Phil's desk.

Slowly, Phil lifts the lid of the box. Inside sits a perfectly constructed Ruben sandwich and a side of fries. It smells fantastic. "Thank you," Phil said, and if it maybe came out a bit softer, a bit warmer, than lunch really deserves, there was only Clint to hear.

"You're welcome," Clint says, and pulls a chair around to sit by Phil's desk.

When Phil is finished eating and Clint has gone back to his diner, Romanov picks up her paper place and walks by one trash can to drop it in the bin by Phil. Phil looks up at her and waits. She holds his gaze for a long time before nodding. "I think you had better call me Natasha," she says firmly.

"Does that mean I have your seal approval?" Phil asks hopefully.

A small smile curves her lips. "You get that because you already earned the seal of approval," she says, tapping the empty box on Phil's desk.

~end~


End file.
